


The Secret of Frywald

by Ysilme



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Adventure, Dragons, Drama, Gift Fic, M/M, My Slashy Valentine, Mystery, Rhovanion, Third Age, Worldbuiliding, early Third Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 09:08:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13655877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysilme/pseuds/Ysilme
Summary: Not long after the war of the Last Alliance, a dragon troubling the East Bight forces the captain of Imladris and the king of the Greenwood into reluctant cooperation. The men of both realms realise that more is to be gained from cooperation than from upholding the distance the war has caused.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IgnobleBard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IgnobleBard/gifts).



> Happy Valentine, IgnobleBard!
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of transformative fiction based on JRR Tolkien’s creation, done purely for enjoyment. No infringement is intended and no money is being made.  
>  **Notes:** Many thanks to Lordhellebore and TheVirginian for handholding and advice.  
>  My most heartfelt thanks to curiouswombat, who once again surpassed herself with her speedy and excellent beta reading. Any remaining mistakes are my own.

“Tell me again, why did I decide to come on this hare-brained journey in person?” Thranduil hunched his shoulders at the increasing downpour and squinted into the slate-grey sky from below his dripping hood.   
  
_Because your Royal Haughtiness does not trust a Noldo further than you can throw him. Not to mention your expectation of me overriding any of your captain’s orders._  
  
Glorfindel refrained from replying, convinced honesty would sit ill with the King of the Wood-elves, even had he voiced his answer with the utmost politeness, of course. Not that he could resent Thranduil such sentiments; the war of the Last Alliance was barely two yéni past and, ever since, the relations between the Greenwood and the other Elven realms had been strained at best. It was already a big concession to the situation at hand that Thranduil had shown willingness to cooperate, and while the Imladrim party had been received with cool reserve, nobody could accuse Thranduil’s folk of lacking in basic hospitality and politeness towards their visitors. Grudgingly, Glorfindel admitted that he had misjudged Thranduil’s abilities as a leader and diplomat. The Sinda had certainly come a long way since Glorfindel knew him as the blond popinjay of Doriath. Still, that did not mean that he had to like Thranduil, and he was firmly resolved to carry out this mission as quickly as possible and return to Imladris.   
  
“Perhaps we should start looking for shelter,” Glorfindel observed, “I do not think this will improve anytime soon.”   
  
They had woken to low-hanging clouds, and the drizzle which had accompanied them all day had turned to increasingly heavy rain with the approaching of dusk. Riding southwards on one of the larger forest paths, they were in an area with mostly deciduous trees which provided them with a brilliantly-coloured ground to enjoy, but barely any protection from above from the bare canopy.   
  
“I had hoped to get closer to the village first and set up a base camp at a reasonable distance,” Thranduil said. He lifted his hand and waited until his captain had closed up. “Send scouts ahead, Arveldir. I want to set up camp at the forest edge, but we might need to make another stop before where we can light a fire.” He gestured upwards.  
  
Arveldir nodded, bellowed a command and set off with two of the other Greenwood warriors.   
  
“Do you really think it is a dragon?”  
  
“What else could it be? A mûmakil with breath so bad it causes hallucinations?”  
  
Glorfindel could not help but laughing out loud at Thranduil’s grumpy comment. His own mood had been more than bleak, but was improving rapidly at the Wood-elven king’s quips.  
  
“I did not know you had a sense of humour.”   
  
Thranduil snorted. “I have a lot of things you have no idea about, Noldo.”   
  
Glorfindel was not sure if this was meant to be scathing, but the other’s voice betrayed that Thranduil’s mood was lifting as well.   
  
“What I meant was whether you believe that it is a living dragon, or something else,” he continued. “You would know more about this than we do, obviously; I do not think I have even heard a dragon being mentioned since - well, since I came back.”  
  
“Neither have we. But we know so little of what goes on in the remote regions of Ennor, nor of what Sauron had been up to when he was building up his forces. It would not surprise me to hear that he had started to breed dragons or bring some back here, if not in time for the battle.”  
  
“I see.” Glorfindel shuddered. They had come to the Greenwood to investigate the mysterious death of an Imladrim minstrel in a village of Men at the border of the Greenwood. Much to their surprise, Thranduil had his focus on the very same village, as various bizarre and contradicting reports suggested that a dragon had taken residence there, and agreed to a joint reconnaissance mission. So far, Glorfindel had not really believed that this would be more than some clever, if threatening, sham, considering than more deaths had occurred.   
  
Thranduil looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Lost your courage now, Noldo?”  
  
“No. But I was joking earlier, I honestly had not thought it could be a living one.”  
  
“Things are not adding up, that much is true,” Thranduil admitted. “For one, although there have been other deaths, none has been caused by any discernible means, like that of your minstrel. If it were just one person I might accept that they might have died from fright or shock. But several people dropping dead, just so? There were also no reports about a dragon flying, or any unexplained or sudden fires in the vicinity. I do not have to tell you how unlikely it is that a living dragon would not have left at least some traces of this kind.”  
  
“Indeed not. What puzzles me is that none of our dead minstrel's company noticed anything unusual or surprising in that village, even though they spent three nights there. We were not aware of any dragon sightings at the time of their return, but surely, they would have mentioned something like this?”  
  
Thranduil nodded. “We have to find out ourselves, I suppose, and be prepared for everything. Your suggested approach is good, I want us to follow it through.”  
  
“All right.”   
  
Thranduil turned his head to look at Glorfindel fully. “You know, I am grateful to have you with me, as well as your warriors,” he said with a slight smile. “Who would be better suited to take care of any fell beast, than the slayer of a Balrog and of a dragon?”   
  
They were interrupted by the return of one of the scouts.   
  
“The captain’s compliments, sire, and he believes the distance to Frywald is too far still. He suggests making camp again for the night and advancing by daylight, and has found a suitable location. I am to lead you there.”  
  
Thranduil sighed. “So be it. Thank you, Callon. At least we will be getting out of this rain soon.”

~oOo~

  
It was nearly dark when they reached a dense copse of conifers somewhat off the path. Glorfindel sighed deeply. They had ridden through broad-leaved forest spread over softly rolling hills most of the day, and they were unlikely to find a handy cave or overhang for shelter. Since the area at large was inhabited, he had hoped for an abandoned hut or lean-to or something of that kind, but it looked as if the somewhat denser fir trees ahead were all the shelter they would get, in addition to their cloaks. The Wood-elves, who had made a bit of a show of demonstrating their hardiness on the trip so far, probably did not mind, but if he was honest Glorfindel himself did. He had likely camped out in any perceivable kind of weather in his long life, and was perfectly fine with it as long as he was able to stay dry. Rolling up in his sodden cloak with only a few pine branches between him and the ongoing rain, though, was at the bottom of his list of acceptable accommodations. However, it could not be helped, and he would rather face another Balrog than let any of this show.   
  
But when they entered the small clearing the captain had chosen for their camp, things did not look as dire. The huge trunk of a fallen tree served as a wind shelter, a small fire was going with a decent pile of dead wood nearby, and the second scout returned carrying a brace of hares. Everybody got busy with setting up camp, the Imladrim warriors taking care of the horses and dinner, leaving the shelter to the superior wood-craft skills of their forest brethren. Supple, thin, ropes and tarps of a kind Glorfindel had never seen before came out of saddle-bags and were slung between trees and over the fallen trunk, the tarps stretching to a surprising size, and in what seemed no time two large shelters had been rigged, one each for the horses and the men.   
  
“What are these? I do not think I have seen anything like this before.” Glorfindel had been helping with the horses and now settled besides Thranduil under the silvery tarps. They dented slightly with each falling raindrop, and swung up and down quite a bit in the wind, but were perfectly waterproof.   
  
Thranduil passed him a flask with the fragrant red wine he favoured. “I do not think these are known beyond our borders. We use spider silk and hair, elven for the ropes, and horse-tail for the tarps.”  
  
“Spider silk?” Glorfindel looked up again, touching the glossy material above his head. The ropes holding everything together seemed to be not thicker than laces and very elastic, while the tarps were stretched so thin that he could see the outline of the branch above through it. The whole structure did even look a bit like a spider’s net.   
  
“This is ingenious! But where would you get such amounts?” Glorfindel took a hearty swig before passing the flask back.  
  
“There is a colony of giant spiders down south, at Amon Lanc,” Thranduil explained. “They must have come from the Ephel Dúath, as one of Ungoliant’s offspring is rumoured to hide there. Their silk is dangerous to harvest, but has a unique quality which provides us with a durable, waterproof, and very light material.”  
  
 “You have some quite interesting surprises hidden in your forest,” Glorfindel remarked drily.  
  
Thranduil snorted. “I would rather do without such surprises! So far, none of them has proven to be good, silk ropes notwithstanding.”  
  
They were joined by their seconds-in-command, bringing supper. Glorfindel sniffed appreciatively at his bowl. It was just the ordinary travel fare, consisting of preserved concentrate dissolved in hot water, with leftover cold meat and a handful of fresh greens thrown in. But in this weather, anything hot and savoury was more than welcome. Around them, everybody was settling down with their evening meal, and the previous bustle was changing into a relaxed atmosphere.   
  
“I wonder why those travelling minstrels have not noticed anything amiss,” Bregedaer, the lieutenant from Imladris, remarked. “Could it be possible that the dragon had flown off  during their sojourn?”  
  
“That would indeed explain it,” Thranduil said “It does not seem very likely, though, considering that there are no reported sightings whatsoever of a dragon in flight. I have seen dragons before, and they flew at some time.”  
  
Glorfindel frowned. “You do realise that if this is some breeding experiment by Sauron, it might actually be a flightless dragon, but with other attributes …”  
  
A collective moan was the answer, and Thranduil lifted his hand in warning. “Nothing is gained by speculating. Let us rather plan our proceeding on the morrow. We hope to arrive at our intended rendezvous location around noon. We will set up camp there, and everybody is to report back there if there are problems. Glorfindel, will you brief us about the strategy we decided upon, please? You suggested it after all.”  
  
“Of course, thank you. Well, the village of Frywald lies close to the northern forest edge of the East Bight. We will set up our rendezvous camp as close as possible to the forest edge and then split up in three groups. Two groups will first reconnoitre the surrounding area from the north and the south, and then proceed towards the village. The third group will go to the village openly in the guise of travellers. We will meet again at the base camp to compare our discoveries before we decide about how to proceed from there on. Any questions so far?”  
  
When nobody objected, Glorfindel continued: “We are thirteen, six warriors from Imladris and five from the Greenwood in addition to King Thranduil and I. The groups will be led by Thranduil, myself, and captain Arveldir, one man will stay behind as guard. Arveldir, I want you to consult with Bregedaer to make sure every group has a good scout, is well-balanced, and consists of men from both of our realms. Everybody, thank you and have a restful night!”  
  
Looking around into the faces of the warriors chatting excitedly, while the lieutenant and the captain were deep in discussion about their task, Glorfindel smiled with relief. This had gone well.  
  
“Thank you for choosing my captain as the third leader, and having him sort out the groups,” Thranduil said softly. “I selected my men carefully, taking only those I trust with not feeling enmity towards any of you. But it is still not easy, as you certainly are aware, and I am worrying that some triviality might cause discord.”  
  
“So am I,” Glorfindel said. “Arveldir was the obvious choice, though. He has the highest rank among our men, and as we are in your realm, it seems logical to choose somebody with local advantage.”  
  
Thranduil made a dismissive gesture. “True. But we never established who of us was to be in command, and I expected you to prefer your own men, as you naturally know them and their abilities well. I am sure it will be easier this way for my men, to experience first-hand that not every Noldo will seize the power of command. I know, I know, this is not what happened at the Last Alliance,” Thranduil hastened to add when Glorfindel frowned at his words. “But it is what most of my people believe happened. My father -”  
“No.” Glorfindel laid his hand on Thranduil’s arm. “Let the past rest. Your father made mistakes, yes, but he was not the only one, and I see no use in dwelling on who to blame. The war is over, and we are all aiming to live our lives in peace as best we can. If some small action on my part might contribute to an easier understanding between our people, I am grateful.”  
  
Thranduil looked at Glorfindel with an unfathomable gaze. “Thank you,” he said again. “You are a good man.”

~oOo~


	2. Two

When dusk fell on the next evening, Glorfindel’s and Thranduil’s groups met again at the base camp. They had been closer than expected to the forest edge and been able to set up camp already in the early morning. This time, Glorfindel learned about the real worth of the spider silk ropes and tarps: the camp was to be up in the trees for concealment, but constructing proper flets from wood would have cost at least half a day. Instead, the elastic ropes and tarps were used to weave and knit together living and deadwood branches, creating flexible, swinging, but surprisingly sturdy télain. They had again chosen a conifer copse, and although it took some getting used to to moving around on the elastic structures, they were much better concealed from below than Glorfindel would have thought possible for such a temporary dwelling.   
  
“Anything happened here?” Thranduil asked as he climbed up onto the largest talan.   
  
Callon, who had stayed behind as a guard, shook his head. “No. I went up twice into a tall beech on the forest edge for a lookout, but everything has been quiet.”  
  
“Good. I do not suppose Arveldir has been back or sent word?” Thranduil accepted a flask from Glorfindel who carefully made his way over from their stored packs.  
  
“No, nothing so far.”  
  
“Let us have supper, then, and take a short rest. We will use the cover of the night to follow him later on.”  
  
Callon had used the occasion to do some foraging, and was now handing out a light supper of fresh berries and greens, small pieces of dried nut-bread, and cold meat of the hares they had roasted on the evening before. Balancing the bowl with his share, Glorfindel got down by the tree trunk and leaned against it with a grateful sigh.   
  
“You Noldor need to spend more time up in the trees,” Thranduil teased. “All that stone and metal has made you far too heavy-footed.”  
  
Glorfindel grinned. “And pompous, you wanted to say?”  
  
“I would never say that!”  
  
Now Glorfindel laughed outright. “Not aloud, at least. But in all honesty, I could not disagree; I believe far too many Noldor do care too much about their comfort and their dignity.”  
  
This made Thranduil chuckle, and Glorfindel noticed how the expression of the usually aloof Sinda softened.   
A flask of wine was handed around, and then most warriors settled down to rest or nap, while Callon and Bregedaer went to bring the horses to a clearing deeper in the forest. They would be proceeding on foot from here, and it was better to keep their mounts hidden. A call would be sufficient to bring them quickly to their side.  
  
“So, what do we have?” Glorfindel folded his cloak into a square, laid it between them, and put a few pine-cones on top. A handful of twigs created a rough image of the forest edge, the village, and the small river passing the village on the south.    
  
“A nice, tall, wall, effectively keeping anything happening in the village inside,” Thranduil grumbled. “Unusually high for a small village in such a remote place, but everything you could wish for as a defence. There is a small gate on the northern side and a large one in the north-east, doubtlessly the main gate as a road leads off eastwards.”   
He placed two pine-cones to mark the gates. “A small creek coming from the forest enters the village half-way between both gates, passing under the wall through a small opening.” Another twig.   
“There was not enough cover to get sufficiently close for details about the guarding of the gates and possible access through there. We also could not get beyond the main gate, for there was too much activity on the road, but the gates stood open. There must be some change of terrain beyond the village there, for we saw the crowns of trees on the far side, but growing on a lower level; there must be a steep drop in the ground. I dimly remember that the river has cut deep into the terrain in these parts.”  
  
Glorfindel nodded. “Yes, there is an escarpment that drops about thirteen feet where we descended, but increasing towards the east. The village is built along its upper edge. The river runs at a distance between eighty and a hundred feet from the cliff, enclosing orchards and gardens.” He added more twigs in demonstration.   
  
“Any openings in the wall on that side?”  
  
“Difficult to say, as we could not get close. There is a low wall between the river and the cultivated part, but only to keep in any animals, I think. We tried to get closer, but the villagers keep their geese and pigs in the orchards, which serve well as guards against any intruder. A gander took a particular disliking to Hatholdir and made such a racket we feared we would be discovered.”  
  
Thranduil chuckled. “Poor Hatholdir, and he loves birds so much!”  
  
Glorfindel grinned. “Anyway, we could make out perhaps four or five small gates or rather doors at the top of clefts of the cliff. Some had steep stairs, some even ladders. They doubtlessly will have doors or at least lattices, but as nothing on four legs could get up there, and only one person at a time, I do not expect them to be guarded, perhaps not even locked.”   
  
“Interesting, although we would not know that before we tried. What else did you find?”  
  
“No openings in the west wall, except for a few small ones high up, likely for lookout purposes. The drop can be navigated with ease at some distance to the village, where it consists of various slopes and clefts. The river is wide and shallow at first but changes into rapids about halfway along the village, where the terrain also slopes down towards the west and changes first into pasturage and then into a small wood. We could not continue there also for lack of cover, but could make out horses and a few simple buildings against the cliff. The village curves back inwards there, too, and the wood has some rather tall trees. I suppose this is what you have also seen.”  
  
Thranduil studied their assorted twigs and pushed them around until the village had a five-sided shape, mostly rectangular with a point to the eastern side. He placed another pine-cone to indicate the wood. “Like this?”  
  
Glorfindel pondered Thranduil’s suggestion, moved two twigs around and then back. “Yes, I think so. Here is the area with the orchards and the small gates,” he pointed at the straight part of the southern wall, “and here the wall turns back. The wood mostly hides the cliff on this side,” he said, pushing the pine-cone half an inch away. “It is difficult to tell, but the cliff seems to be crumbling down there, around a wild little creek, likely the one you saw going in. It joins the the river a bit further down eastwards.”  
  
“Have you been able to get closer to the wood there?”  
  
“No. There was no cover between the river and the wood, just open meadow, and although we only saw a handful of people we could not tell if we would be observed from within these stables or buildings, or from the wood.”  
  
“So we do have an inaccessible western and mostly inaccessible northern wall, possible but difficult access from the south, and an uncounted for situation in the east, with a drop in terrain, a cliff, river rapids, and a concealing wood.”  
  
“Sounds like a lot of fun,” Glorfindel remarked dryly, eliciting a chuckle from Thranduil.   
  
“I would suggest the following,” the Wood-elf king said. “We will split again much like before, but I will only take Bregedaer and Norphen. We will proceed to the northern wall to where the small creek enters. An Elf might pass through there if there is no grid. If it is not possible, we will proceed onward and see if we find another way in, or, if not, turn around and join you again in the south. You will go around the south and investigate the garden gates; at this time of the night, the animals should pose no problem, at least not for Elves.”  
  
Glorfindel nodded approvingly.  
  
“You will also send two or three men ahead to investigate the pasturage and the wood. None of you will enter already, though, but wait until two candle-marks has passed from when we separate. If we have not joined you by then, you will enter wherever possible. Any of us who has managed to get inside the village will stay well hidden, keeping in contact by the usual bird-calls. What do you say?”  
  
“Sounds like the best possible option, although I am not happy about you, or anybody other, entering the village through a creek.”  
  
“Afraid we will not manage?” Thranduil was teasing again.  
  
“Only that your royal highness will be the worse for it,” Glorfindel dead-panned.  
  
“My ‘royal highness’ is not dulled by a little water,” Thranduil remarked, but could not hide the laughter in his eyes.   
  
Glorfindel was delighted by the humour and the warmth the other displayed over and over again. This was so different from how he had known Thranduil back in Beleriand, and from everything he had heard about him since then. When this is over, I would not mind getting to know him better, he thought.  
  
Aloud, he said. “Then let us rest until it is time to leave.”  
  
Thranduil agreed, and both settled down, finding a comfortable spot to stretch out. Thranduil seemed restless, though, shifting around repeatedly.  
  
“Are you worrying about Arveldir?” Glorfindel asked softly.  
  
“I had hoped to hear from him before we set out out again, but in all likelihood he has not found any opportunity.”  
  
“Indeed not. If they did not encounter any problems, they will most likely have settled down at some inn, as any traveller would do. But depending on what is going on there, any newcomer would be under close surveillance. And as inaccessible the village is, it is doubtlessly equally difficult for somebody to get out unnoticed.”  
  
“Hmhm.”  
  
“Something is off, though, do you not think so?”   
  
“Yes, I have the same feeling,” Thranduil said. “Everything seems to be as it should, quiet, calm, and peaceful, just a village in a remote area going about its daily business. But it is just too quiet and peaceful to feel natural. Do you know what I mean?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I do not understand it.” Thranduil sat up again, giving up the pretence of rest. He was radiating tense unease, all traces of the previous lightness gone.  
“Nothing makes sense, you know.”  
  
It took Glorfindel a moment to follow Thranduil’s sudden change of mood, but the other continued before he could say something.  
  
“Why should something be happening here, of all places? There is barely a more remote corner of Rhovanion than the East Bight. A couple of Men’s villages, one or two Avari settlements not too far into the forest. No larger roads, no trading route, no particular resources anybody might covet, and to my knowledge, Frywald is as average a village as they come. The only peculiarity I can perceive is a larger than usual distance between these villages and other settlements of Men - I think it is at least three day’s rides in either direction.”  
  
Glorfindel grunted in response.  
  
“The most logical explanation would indeed be a living dragon, although what such a one would look for here also baffles me. To leave aside the fact that I do not see where they would hide such a huge beast. I think we have been close enough to have seen anything on the outside, and the main gate is not large enough to accommodate for it anyway.”  
  
“A living dragon could always have entered by way of flying, although I wonder where it would have found a place to rest within the walls. Still, while this is possible, I agree with your reasoning about the probability.” Glorfindel sat up again as well.  
  
“What then? Some sinister machination comes to mind, but why? For what purpose?”  
  
Glorfindel pondered this. “Do you think this could be related in any way to the war?”  
  
“That long afterwards?” Thranduil frowned. “Maybe. But then again, why here? If this were true, it must surely affect the Elven realms, as the Men came here only after the war. But the East Bight is the least plausible place of anything going on concerning any of the Elven peoples.”  
  
“There is that.”   
  
At this moment, Bregedaer’s head appeared over the edge of the talan. He drew himself up and settled at Glorfindel’s side. “Could this be aimed at the forest?” he asked.   
  
Surprised, Thranduil turned to him. “The forest?”  
  
“Yes. The exact location of your settlement is not known to outsiders, or difficult to place due to the nature of the forest. At best they would know that your people dwells in a central part of it, somewhat to the north of here. They might also know, or assume, that your people’s dwellings are spread over a large area. Attacking you directly would be impossible, or very difficult, so anybody meaning harm might aim at attacking the forest instead, either to to damage your means of living, or to hurt you personally though the trees.”  
  
Surprised, Glorfindel noticed how Thranduil’s previously open and relaxed manner changed. Suddenly, he seemed every bit aloof and dismissive as he was rumoured to be.  
  
“Thank you, lieutenant, this is sound thinking,” Thranduil said coolly. “But it does not make for a viable cause for the trouble at hand. A living dragon would not be able to damage the forest sufficiently for my people to be threatened. And were it any kind of man-made contraption, I cannot imagine how that would manage to cause sufficient danger to achieve such an aim as well. There are but a few Avari settlements close. Their inhabitants are likely to relocate at any threat of danger, let aside the fact that they do not regard themselves as part of my people, no matter that I am the protector of the entire wood. To an outsider, the Avari surely would be unrelated to me.”  
  
Bregedaer was about to comment, but kept silent when he caught Glorfindel’s gaze.   
  
“Let us rest now, we need to be alert later on,” Glorfindel said firmly. Nothing good would come from any continued discussion. They needed to cooperate well, and Bregedaer was to go with Thranduil.  He settled back again, trying to relax. Something was going on here, something that had not been an issue before. Thranduil clearly was uneasy, but also clearly not willing to share it with them. Bregedaer’s reasoning made sense to him, but only if the threat was man-made, and aimed at Thranduil personally. But if that were true, the attacker would not only need to know Thranduil well, but also know about the profound relationship between the forest and its king. Somebody close to the king, somebody Thranduil trusted.

~oOo~


	3. Three

At midnight, the Elves set out again. The sky was overcast, with clouds painting distorted shapes on the ground as they passed the waning moon. Like fleeting shadows, the Elves passed unseen and unnoticed along the edge of the forest. Silence hung over Frywald when they arrived, although a strange, faint, glow hung above the far side of the village.   
  
Glorfindel was uneasy; an odd sense of premonition had come over him. It was of no use, of course; they would not change their plans for something so fleeting,  and with still no word from Arveldir, their aim was no longer only to investigate the rumours, but to find out what had happened to their comrades. Perhaps all he was sensing was the danger of their mission, which was, after all, only to be expected.   
  
They parted at the north-western corner of the village, and Thranduil, Bregedaer and Norphen vanished silently into the night.   
  
“Come along!” Glorfindel whispered, and equally silently, they crept towards the cliff under the shadow of the wall. It took them longer to get down the cliff this time, with just some small crevices to hold onto, but soon everybody was safely down, and they separated again as discussed. Hatholdir and Celechanar went to follow the river to the pastures, while the other two followed Glorfindel along the bottom of the cliff.   
As expected, no animals were left outside, and they passed unnoticed through the orchards and gardens. With the help of steep stairs hewn into the cliff, climbing up to check the gates was easy. The first three turned out to be sturdy, locked, wooden gates with no means to enter short of breaking them down. The fourth could be only reached by a rickety ladder and consisted of an iron lattice with a simple lock. Glorfindel approached carefully, not knowing what lay behind, but closer inspection revealed some chamber or passageway and no immediate danger of discovery.   
  
Malen, who was good with locks, examined the gate. “I can pick this easily,” he whispered. “Shall I?”  
  
“Not yet,” Glorfindel answered, “we might get stuck behind another sturdy door. I will see the last door first, and what lies further on.”  
  
“All right.”   
  
Malen went down again first, and they continued along the bottom of the cliff. The fourth door, again on top of hewn stairs, lay just beyond the last orchard and turned out to be the easiest accessible. It was another sturdy wooden gate, but, much to their surprise, it was unlocked.   
  
“They forgot this one,” Lónaer said, but Glorfindel shook his head. This was too easy; he would have sworn that the gate had been left this way on purpose.   
  
“Not likely,” he answered, “but still, it gives possible access. Let us find the others first and see what they found out.”   
  
So down again it was once more. Keeping under the cover of the last fruit trees, Glorfindel sent out some owl calls. They were answered immediately, and it did not take long for Hatholdir and Celechanar to join them again.  
  
“Good to have you back. Did you have any problems?”  
  
“No. The buildings are mostly sheds and workshops, with one or two stables. There was a guard at a fire close by, but he will not bother us.”  
  
Glorfindel frowned, but Hatholdir continued with a grin: “Just knocked unconscious, although he will be nursing a bruised jaw for a while.”   
  
“Good. What else did you find?”  
  
“Nothing much. Horse pastures, as expected, a couple of lean-tos among the trees, but the wood is essentially just that. A few ancient fir trees, but mostly it is coppice with rowans, blackthorn, and hazel. Firewood for the village, by the looks of it.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
“There was something odd, though - that glow we saw from the far side? There is some light up there, but you get to see it only from some angles. I think something is happening up there, outside the walls.”  
  
Glorfindel mulled this over and checked the position of the moon. The agreed-upon candle-mark had nearly passed without news from Thranduil. Should they wait even longer for the others to join them, or continue with their investigation? The area Hatholdir indicated was on top of the drop, but must be outside the village walls. If Thranduil had managed to get into the village - and Glorfindel hoped very much that he did - they would likely miss each other.   
  
“Hatholdir, you will take Lónaer and go back to the fourth door. It is unlocked, which might have been done on purpose, so please be extra careful. Make sure it is not an ambush, enter, and advance into the village. Your task is to first find Thranduil and his men, and update him on our findings and intentions.”   
Lónaer, the only Greenwood Elf in his group, would find his king and brethren easier and faster, as he was familiar with their strategic thinking.   
  
“If you cannot find Thranduil, or if you do and he has no need of you, search for Arveldir or any of his company, and aid them if necessary. The rest of us will climb up here to investigate. Either we will find a way inside from there, or we will go back and follow you. We will communicate by owl call, as usual.”  
  
“Aye, sir.” Hatholdir nodded to Lónaer and vanished into the darkness.   
  
Glorfindel looked at Malen and Celechanar. “Off we go, then. Malen, you go first, your dark hair is harder to spot than ours.”  
  
This time, there were neither stairs nor ladder to get up the cliff, and the rock was crumbling in parts. The climb might have been impossible for a Man, but did not prove to be difficult for an Elf, although they needed to take their time and be careful. Celechanar muttered something about Elves not being goats, and then they were up, lying flat in the grass and trying to make sense of what they saw.   
  
They were indeed on the outside of the village, on a narrow meadow between the wall and the cliff. Along the latter ran the remains of a crumbling, low, wall, fortified in parts by a wooden fence, indicating the customary use as a pasture. At present, though, most of the available space was occupied by a massive form nearly as high as the wall.   
  
Here it was, the reason for the reports, the big mystery: the dragon.   
  
For it was indeed a dragon, although all they could discern was one huge hind leg and the enormous tail stretching out to their left. It was an enormous creature, looming menacingly, and so dark it barely stood out against the sky. It did not look at all like any other dragon Glorfindel had seen, but he had to admit that he had never been so close to one before, nor had he ever seen one resting. The creature was lit by a strange glow from above which seemed to hover over it; the same glow they had seen from the other side, and Hatholdir from below. By the dim light they could not make out further details, but an occasional glitter on the skin gave a rough idea of the shape and size. The skin also moved slightly, like that of a breathing creature.   
  
Glorfindel took a deep breath. So it was a living dragon after all. Where had it come from? What did it want here? Why did nothing add up, as Thranduil had outlined so well? At least it seemed to be sleeping. _By the darkest pits of Thangorodrim, what have I got myself into?_  
  
“Sir?”  
  
Celechanar’s puzzled look made Glorfindel realise that he had uttered the last words aloud, in Quenya. He shook his head.   
   
“Nothing.”  
  
“Is this really a dragon? I mean, a living one?” Celechanar’s voice quivered, Glorfindel did not know if from fear or awe. Maybe both.  
  
“I fear so, yes. I confess I did not believe it possible.”   
Something about it was odd, though; something he should know, but he could not place it. _I am just nervous - no, afraid. I am afraid. This is not a Balrog, but close enough …_  
  
“What do we do now? Get a closer look?” Malen’s eyes glittered excitedly.   
  
“By the stars, no, that would be insane! That - creature - might be sleeping, but do not be misled by its size: they are very agile and can move extremely fast. I have seen men seized and swallowed in the blink of an eye.”  
  
Malen whistled soundlessly. “Like a lizard.”  
  
“A very big lizard, but yes.” Glorfindel grinned without humour. His companions were both too young to have ever encountered a dragon, unlike him, who had met them in battle.   
“We have seen enough for the moment. Now that we know what we are dealing with, we need to find the others and compare our findings. We need to find a way inside the village.”  
  
“There is another door up here.” Celechanar had crawled closer to the tail and now stood, looking over it.   
“We just need to get over that tail.”   
  
“Let us try around first.” Glorfindel got up and moved, crouched and soundless, towards the end of the massive body part. But the end was hanging over the edge of the cliff, and still coming up to his thigh.”  
  
“We have to jump over it. Be careful, do not get too close so it will not sense the movement!”  
  
The three of them jumped the tail with ease and then paused, anxious to see if they had been discovered. Nothing moved, though; the left hind leg hid them well, but also prevented them from seeing anything beyond. The gate was now within easy reach, another sturdy wooden one. Malen made short work of the lock, and then, finally, they were inside.  
  
Glorfindel pushed them into the shadow of the next building and nearly had a heart attack when a hand gripped his shoulder. He spun around, drawing his dagger in a fluid motion and pressing it against the throat of his attacker.  
  
“The Valar be thanked, it is you!”  
  
“Bregedaer!” Glorfindel nearly dropped his dagger with relief. “Where is Thranduil? Have you found -”  
  
“Not here,” Bregedaer whispered urgently and drew Glorfindel along, deeper into the shadows below the wall, and into a small lean-to. It smelled of goats, and a soft bleating confirmed the occupants’ identity, although they did not seem to mind their visitors. Somebody closed the door.  
  
It was too dark to see more than dim outlines, but Glorfindel could smell a faint whiff of blood and hear his lieutenant’s accelerated breathing.  
“Are you injured? What has happened? Have you met Hatholdir?”  
  
“It was an ambush. They were waiting for us, they wanted the king. I could escape and hide, but they captured him.”  
  
Glorfindel cursed. “Do you know where he was taken? And what about the other - Norphen, right?”  
  
“They got him as well. I tried to follow them, but was knocked down, and lost them. All I know is that they left the village.”  
  
“Shit.” Glorfindel worked his jaw. What now? This was getting worse than he would have dared to imagine.  
“Did you see Hatholdir or Lónaer, or any of Arveldir's men?” he asked again.   
  
“I am sorry, no. I tried to find out where they were taking the king, but the door was guarded, so  I figured it would be best to find one of you.”  
  
“Good thinking. We will stay together from now on, too many of us are already unaccounted for. Bregedaer, are you well enough to keep up?”  
  
“I am fine, just a black eye and a cut to the arm.”  
  
“Good. We are first going back along the wall, I want to find Hatholdir and Lónaer, and then see what happened to Thranduil. Will you find the door again they used, Bregedaer?”  
  
“They left through the main gate. The gate is closed, but a small door within was open, with bright light shining on the outside. This was where I could escape.”   
  
The bright light. That sounded like a fire, a large one. At least it was unlikely to be dragon fire. For one, that would not burn steadily, and then the roaring sound of a dragon spitting fire was hard to miss. They had been close enough most of the time to have heard it. It was anything but reassuring, though, that Thranduil was kept anywhere within the range of a dragon’s head.

~oOo~


	4. Four

The four Elves crept out again and moved quietly through the shadows, uttering soft owl calls at every corner in the hope of establishing contact with their missing brethren.   
  
Glorfindel breathed a sigh of relief when, finally, their call was answered. Still, this might yet be another ambush, so he sent out a blackbird’s call first, and only continued when he heard the answering ‘zip’ of a song thrush. Only an Imladris warrior would know the exact sequence of bird calls they used to verify identity on such occasions.  
  
“Good to see you again, sir,” Hatholdir whispered with a relieved grin when they finally met. “I was beginning to worry. How did you get in?”  
  
“There is another small gate in the south-east wall. The dragon is there. Did you find Arveldir?”  
  
“Yes. Wait - you said the dragon?”  
  
“Yes, we found it. No time to explain, though, Thranduil has been captured,” Glorfindel whispered urgently. “We need to find him. Where are the others?”  
  
Hatholdir cursed under his breath. “You had better come with us,” he said, “it is a long story.”  
  
With a resigned sigh, Glorfindel followed him through various little lanes and passageways until they ended up in another stable. This time, it smelt of pigs.  
  
“I do not believe this,” Malen muttered.  
  
“Who is this?” a slurring voice asked softly. “’Thol, is that you?”  
  
“Hush, yes, and I brought Glorfindel.”  
  
Footsteps rustled through straw, and Glorfindel was gently tugged forward. It was too dark to see anything, but after a few steps he was drawn down onto his knees. He groped around until he found a body, sitting half-upright against some wooden structure.   
  
“It is Cúnir, sir,” the slurred voice said, “I am so glad you have found us.”  
  
Glorfindel found his shoulder and gripped it reassuringly.   
  
“So am I, Cúnir. Do not worry, we will take care of you now.” Cúnir was the other Greenwood warrior that had been with Arveldir.   
  
“They have been drugged,” Hatholdir explained in a low voice. “Cúnir is the least affected, he is responsive and reasonable, but still dizzy. The others are sleeping, or insensible. We better not them, for Cúnir says they were talking nonsense earlier and were quite loud.”  
  
“I see.” Glorfindel took a deep breath. This was becoming absurd. What next? They had a dragon, an abducted king, and now also drugged warriors …   
  
“You said insensible?”   
  
“Elvedui has not come to since it happened,” Lónaer added, “and his breathing has stopped once. He seems to be stable now, though.”   
  
Glorfindel cursed. “Best tell me all you know.”  
  
Cúnir coughed and drank greedily from a flask somebody passed over to him.   
  
“When we entered the village yesterday - was it yesterday? How much time has passed?”  
  
“Yesterday,” Hatholdir confirmed.  
  
“- well, everything was what you would expect from such a village. A few shops, an inn, people going about their business. We pretended to be travellers on our way back to Lindon from the east, and were directed to the inn. They gave us a room with four beds and brought refreshments, and from then on things started to get blurry.”  
  
He coughed again. “I suppose it was lucky that I had torn my cloak earlier and was busy repairing it, so took only one bite from one of their pasties before I noticed the others behaving oddly. They started to talk funny and sway while standing, and saw things that were not there. The captain started to sing something bawdy, and the Imladris Elf, Amaron I think, giggled like a girl. It was then that I realised that they must have put something in the food, and then Elvedui collapsed. I tried to catch him, which was when I noticed that I was dizzy at well and could not walk straight. I think I fell down, too, for I was out for a while. When I came to again it was dark outside, and some funny people came and said they were to have some fun and we should come. I did not want to, but Arveldir ordered it. They took us outside, leaving Elvedui behind, and guided us down the street. The houses were weird, though; they had funny shapes and bright colours on them.”  
  
“Were you forced to follow these people?” Glorfindel asked.  
  
“I - I do not think so, but I cannot say. I fear I was not very clear in the head most of the time. I noticed some things, but in between there are only blurred colours. Sometimes I thought that I should refuse doing what they wanted, but I could not.”  
  
“Probably better this way,” Hatholdir muttered. “Who knows what would have happened with you if they had realised you were not as drugged as they thought.”  
  
“Do you think so?” Cúnir sounded relieved.  
  
“Aye,” Glorfindel said. “But please continue.”  
  
“They brought us to the dragon.” Cúnir swallowed. “I do not know where they are hiding it, for we did not see it before, but it is huge, and it is spitting fire and steam! We stood very close and were nearly burnt by the flames, and I was never before so afraid.”  
  
“We have seen it, too,” Glorfindel said. “What happened then?”  
  
“I do not know,” Cúnir admitted. “All I can remember are the flames and the snout with the gigantic teeth, and that I woke up later in our room at the inn. I was sick when I woke, and still dizzy. I tried to wake the others, but to no avail, they were sleeping too deeply. I think they have been given more of the drug, or something else, except for Elvedui, who was as before.” He sounded apologetic.   
  
“You did very well, Cúnir,” Glorfindel reassured him. “Do not worry.”  
  
“I think I slept again, but when I woke later, I remembered that we were to meet you. I thought it would be best to try to get out and find you by myself. The door was unlocked and unguarded, so I could just sneak out of the house. Hatholdir and Lónaer found me soon afterwards, and they brought us all here.”  
  
“Thank you, Cúnir, that was very brave. You might have saved your comrades’ life as well as your own through your actions.”  
  
“Where is _aran_ Thranduil?”  
  
Glorfindel grimaced. “I do not know at present, we are looking for him. But first we will get you all out of here, to safety.” Turning to Hatholdir, he continued: “Has anybody woken since you found them?”   
  
“No. Cúnir has become more clear since we found him, though.”  
  
“That is something at least.” Glorfindel got up and walked a few paces; by now, his eyes had adapted sufficiently to orient himself. They were getting from smoke to smother and back again, as it seemed. Two Elves missing, likely captured, one of them the king of the Greenwood, three more unconscious and all of them in a fortified village of Men without reinforcements or easy means to escape. Well, he had lived through worse, he supposed.   
  
“All right, time for our next step.” He gave his best to sound confident to boost the general mood, although he felt anything but. “We have three unconscious, but six able-bodied, and one unfit but ambulant. Our first goal is to get Arveldir’s group to safety. However, as we do not know what has happened to king Thranduil and Norphen, we cannot afford to bring them back to the base camp and return, particularly not on foot. Any suggestions? I want them outside the village walls but as safe as possible.”  
  
“What about the shacks at the bottom of the drop?” Malen asked. “That guard is soundly knocked out, and we can still bind and gag him. It is also far enough away to not attract attention should any of them awake and create noise.”  
  
“Possible, but not ideal, if our only means of reaching them is that climb. But it certainly is an option.”  
  
“We could just take them with us and leave them by the door to the ledge,” Celechanar offered. “There are some crumbled boulders which give some protection, but I think the place at the back of the dragon is safe enough.”  
  
“At the back of the dragon?” Bregedaer sounded faint.  
  
“Ah, you do not know yet,” Celechanar said. “At the western part of the village, there is a strip of meadow between the walls and the cliff. The dragon is there. We came up at its back, and remained unnoticed as the body hides everything behind from view. The meadow is too narrow for the beast to turn around, and while the tail certainly presents danger, one would be safe if out of its reach.”  
  
Glorfindel pondered this. “We will do that. It is not ideal either, but preferable to having our comrades so far out of our sight. Off we go, then.”

~oOo~

  
The temperature had dropped when they were back outside, and the night was at the darkest hour. About two candle-marks until sunrise, Glorfindel estimated. Time was running out, they needed to hurry.   
  
Getting their unconscious companions out of the village had proved to be more difficult than expected, as they had nearly been seen twice and needed to make various detours and lost their way once. The village had lain silent before, but now clearly something was going on. _Odd, particularly for this time of the night,_ Glorfindel thought. _But then, having a dragon at your doorstep was not exactly commonplace either._  
  
Arveldir’s men were sleeping peacefully on the ground behind some boulders, guarded by Cúnir who was by now clear enough to keep them back should they wake. Following Malen’s suggestion, they had blocked the door with smaller boulders, so nobody would get at them from behind.   
  
Glorfindel checked his weapons. Time to face the real challenge. Time to brave that dragon.   
  
He decided to proceed along the crumbled wall at the cliff’s edge, hoping to remain undetected as long as possible, and perhaps even to surprise whoever was there. It was frustrating that they still had no idea with whom they were dealing, nor with how many. At least the dragon did not seem to have moved and looked just like before. But the air vibrated with tension, and he could hear a low noise that had not been there before.   
  
“By the valar, what a monster!” Bregedaer closed up to Glorfindel as they approached the hind leg. “I always thought they were smaller.”  
  
“They come in all sizes. I have seen even larger ones, but never up close. Most are smaller, but not less dangerous. Their fire is deadly no matter their size.”  
  
They had rounded the leg, and Glorfindel froze as he heard voices. The light was also brighter than before, and he thought he heard the sound of a fire crackling close by. He signalled to the others to wait and carefully crept forward.   
  
With unbelieving eyes, Glorfindel stared at the sight in front of him. He was at the flank of the dragon, and the size was every bit as intimidating as the rear end had suggested. The front leg was nearly as big as the hind legs, and beyond, he could just make out an enormous head, lowered to the ground. The skin looked like the darkest leather, glinting now and again in the soft light that came from above.   
  
But now he could also see the source of that light, and understood what this was. A dragon, yes, though not alive, but man-made. A clever, ingeniously created construction, looking deceptively real, from the shape and size and the way the body and limbs were formed, down to the skin - no, the hull - and the claws on the legs. Except that there was a door in its flank which stood open, allowing free view inside. The whole thing was hollow, looking more like a dwelling than anything else, and a large fire burned in a stone-lined fire pit in the middle. This was also illuminating the clouds above, for there was no top.   
  
Glorfindel was as shocked as he was amazed. What a curious, odd, contraption! He could not help but admire the artistry and skill that had gone into creating this, but what in the name of Mandos …  
  
At first, he felt relief, for whatever this was, anything was better than dealing with a living dragon. But whoever was behind all of this had anything but good intentions, and might be every bit as dangerous, considering the effort that must have gone into creating this thing, and everything that had happened so far. He burned to know the reason behind all of this, but it would have to wait; the most pressing issue at hand was Thranduil. He now had a very good idea where the king of the Greenwood might be.   
  
Retreating with utmost care, he gathered his men together and briefed them about the changed situation.  
  
“Any suggestions, other than storm?”  
  
Bregedaer shook his head. “There is no way we might get in there unnoticed, so we must act fast and try to overwhelm anybody in there as quickly as possible.”   
  
Glorfindel agreed. “We do not know where Thranduil and Norphen are, and if they are inside at all. But it seems most likely. We have to find them quickly to not place them in even more danger.”  
  
Everybody nodded their agreement.   
  
“They might not expect anybody to enter from this side, though, or perhaps enter at all,” Celechanar offered. “Nobody from the village might be aware of this entrance to that thing, as it is unlikely somebody would pass here by chance. Certainly not from the front, for why should they wish to go past? And neither from the back - Malen said the lock had not been used recently.”  
  
“At least something positive.” That was Lónaer.   
  
“Let us do it, then, we will not win anything by waiting. Bregedaer, you and Lónaer focus on finding the king and Norphen, the rest of us will concentrate on overcoming the enemy ensure our retreat. When we have found the king, we will get out again, take the others, and retreat back to the forest as quickly as possible. Call the horses as soon as you are outside again. This is far larger than we can deal with by ourselves, even if all of us were in fighting shape, and our first goal is now for all of us to get away again safely.”  
  
Everybody murmured their approval.   
  
Glorfindel led the way, moving soundlessly back around the hind leg and towards the opening in the flank of the dragon. He stopped just outside the door, listening intently and waiting until everybody had caught up and drawn their swords. Then, they charged.  
  
~oOo~  
  
They were met with various swarthy faces, showing utter surprise, until a shout in a foreign language started a flurry of fighting. Their opponents, which Glorfindel recognised by their weapons and dress as Men from Umbar or the Far Harad - he could not remember precisely where - , fought like berserks, but the Elves had the moment of surprise on their side, and matched their opponents in number, skill, and determination. It did not take long until the Elves prevailed, with one of their enemies lying dead and the rest disarmed and bound. Glorfindel did a quick tour of the chamber, and, finding no other door to the outside, ordered Malen and Celechanar to guard it. Bregedaer and Lónaer had already disappeared through the only other door into the rear of the structure, and Glorfindel beckoned to Hatholdir to follow him there, his throat tight with apprehension.   
  
They stepped into a large chamber, lavishly decorated in an exotic style, with several low couches grouped around a brazier and a large bed in the tapering back of the room. In addition to the brazier, the room was lit by  numerous candles placed on every kind of horizontal surface, flickering wildly and throwing bizarre shadows against the oddly-shaped walls. The whole structure of this dragon-thing was supported by what looked like a skeleton, with rich draperies hung in between the rib-like, vertical, supports.   
  
A tall figure clad in voluminous robes of the darkest red stood in the middle of the room, arms outstretched and seemingly relaxed, locked in eye contact with both Bregedaer and Lónaer who had their swords pointed at his chest. The Man - no, he was an Elf, Glorfindel noticed, looked faintly familiar, but before Glorfindel could ask what was going on, he caught sight of Thranduil. His heart sank.   
  
Like a broken puppet, the king of the Wood-elves had been thrown over a couch, lying with twisted limbs and his head hanging down in an unnatural angle, his face white as marble, and trails of dried blood under his nose. He was completely still, and a quick glance at the warrior’s faces confirmed his worst suspicion.   
  
Glorfindel gasped. Not Thranduil, not like this! Not after everything they all had lived through.  
  
The strange Elf turned to Glorfindel, fixing him with an odd, glittering, stare, and then threw back his head in manic laughter.  
  
Glorfindel saw red. With a roar, he jumped forwards, ramming his sword into the Elf’s belly before anybody could move. The Elf shrieked and stumbled backwards, hands clasped around the blade in a futile attempt to draw it out, and fell into the brazier right behind him. His robes caught fire, and with increasing shrieks he tried to get away, rolling around on the floor and setting fire to everything he came in contact with.  
Glorfindel ignored him, frantically climbing over furniture and falling onto his knees at Thranduil’s side.   
  
“No,” he whispered, aghast, cradling the still head with utmost gentleness, brushing a blood-encrusted strand off the white face. Ever so carefully, he lifted the lifeless body into his arms and stood, oblivious of room around him going up in flames. A dim voice urged him to get out, and there were voices shouting and ordering, but he was completely focused on his heartbreaking burden. Somebody tugged him along, and then, something crashed, and everything went dark.

~oOo~


	5. Five

“So will you finally tell me what this was all about?”  
  
Glorfindel smiled gratefully at the healer who placed a new mint compress on his aching head.  
  
“It is not a story I am keen on telling,” Thranduil admitted, “it is a rather painful subject. But I suppose you have earned the right to know. You saved my life, after all.”  
  
Glorfindel snorted. “I did nothing of the sort! All I managed was setting that dragon contraption ablaze and killing the villain, robbing you of the opportunity to question him. Our men had him well covered when I lost control.”  
  
“You carried me out, although you believed me dead,” Thranduil said softly. “Bregedaer said the place went up so quickly they likely would not have managed to get to me and take me in time, although they knew I was still alive.”  
  
“You looked rather dead to me,” Glorfindel said, shuddering at the memory.  
  
“Nothing but bruises and broken bones.“ Thranduil smiled, looking rather gruesome with a stiff bandage around his neck, yellow burn paste on his right cheek and, and a bruise in all colours of the rainbow around the puffed left eye.  
  
“And I managed to get you injured even further,” Glorfindel added, embarrassed. When he had carried Thranduil out of the burning dragon structure, the support for the dragon’s hind leg had given way and fallen over the two of them. He had been knocked out, but their comrades freed them immediately, so they both suffered little worse than a couple of minor burn injuries, cuts, and bruises, Thranduil a broken forearm, and Glorfindel a concussion.  
  
“I do not mind. I am alive and healing, and another broken bone is not the end of the world.” With a chuckle, he looked at his bandaged and splinted arm and leg.  
  
Glorfindel’s mood lifted at his friend’s cheerfulness. He tried to focus on Thranduil’s animated face to disperse the horrible memory of that still, twisted figure. When he had gained consciousness again after everything was over, and had learned that Thranduil was indeed alive, if rather battered, he had needed to see the king of the Greenwood for himself to believe it. He still sometimes woke from bad dreams about the incident, believing Thranduil dead, and was rather moved when Thranduil had had Glorfindel’s bed placed in his very own sleeping chamber upon their return to his palace.  
  
“It goes back to the siege of Barad-Dûr,” Thranduil now said, frowning at the memory. “Ethir was a confidant of my father’s, and had been my mentor in many things. I trusted him fully, and when my father fell, he was the rock at my side to keep me going. I still find it hard to believe that this was nothing but show, that all this time, he was seeking for a means to expel all the Sindar from the Greenwood …” He sighed. “Then, one day, he saved my life during an assault, but was captured himself. We could not save him, or free him again, much as it pained me. Well, you know it, you were there yourself.”  
  
Glorfindel nodded.  
  
“When he had me at his mercy, he told me what had happened to him. Back then, I had prayed for his swift death, so he would not suffer unduly. I have never been able to forgive myself that we could not save him. Well, he had never forgiven me either, but sought for revenge ever since. I believed him imprisoned and tortured by orcs and suffering a horrible fate. But he had been sold to the Haradrim right away, where he quickly managed to get into the good graces of some leader, rose to a position of power, and used the hate of a few individuals to set his plans into motion. Can you believe that this happened nearly a yén ago, and that he used all this time to build up his intrigue?”  
  
“It boggles the mind. When you told me that this dragon thing had been built in Frywald right where we found it, several decades ago, I thought you were having me on.”  
  
Thranduil laughed without humour. “I wish I were! Norphen told me it started when they discovered the skeleton of a dragon in the desert beyond Mordor. Ethir had it dismantled, and, after finding a suitable location in Frywald, transported it there and had this thing built.”  
  
“Norphen was in on this?”  
  
Thranduil took a deep breath. “Yes. A spy right under my nose. He was close to Ethir and knew of his fate, and took his part in the whole endeavour. Through him, Ethir knew about any news from the Greenwood, and it was he who brought certain reports of dragon sightings to my attention. He also contrived to slip mind-altering drugs to people before they reported to me, and persuaded them to give false report.”  
  
“The same drug our warriors were given?”  
  
“Yes, black henbane. It causes hallucinations and makes people submissive, but it also kills easily with an overdose, as it affects the breathing and the heart.”  
  
“As it happened with Elvedui, and you,” Glorfindel said. The drug had been the reason why Thranduil had appeared dead, for it had extremely slowed his breathing, and caused his heart to stop several times.  
  
“And all of this to get back to you.” Glorfindel found it hard to believe that somebody would come up with such a convoluted scheme.  
  
“I believe his mind has been twisted during his time as a prisoner and slave. He had not been a fanatic before, no matter his plans for a Sindar-free Greenwood - he was not the only one with such ideas.”  
  
“And he came up with that dragon nonsense because he thought you would quiver with fear at the sight?”  
  
“No, I think the dragon was mostly a means of instilling terror and demonstrating power, and to lure me to the village to get hold of me. He succeeded with that, after all.”  
  
Thranduil snorted. “But he failed at his attempt to bend my will. I do not know if he miscalculated the dose when he gave me the drug, or if he gave me too much on purpose. You came just at the right moment.”  
  
“I am even more glad, then.”  
  
Thranduil shifted and grimaced with discomfort. “Well, it is over now. Let us hope that these are the last injuries this thrice-cursed war has caused. I wish I could forget all about this incident, but I must not, for it is a painful lesson of what can happen when you neglect your people’s feelings and opinions.”  
  
“Very true. But you know, I cannot wish for this to not have happened, for some good things came out of it was well.” Glorfindel smiled warmly. “Some really good things, I think. For one, I do not believe there will ever be strained relations between the Greenwood and Imladris again. Not with so many new friendships formed.”  
  
“No, indeed not.” The smile was back on Thranduil’s face, and once again Glorfindel was amazed how much this changed Thranduil’s features.  
  
Glorfindel scooted to the edge of his bed, stood, and gingerly moved over to a chair at Thranduil’s side. The movement caused nausea, but he refused to take any notice of it, reaching for Thranduil’s uninjured hand instead.  
  
“More importantly, though, I have found something I would not have wanted to miss for anything in the world, including a Balrog and a make-believe dragon.”  
  
Their eyes met, and Glorfindel leaned even closer, placing a tender kiss on Thranduil’s lips.  
  
“So have I.” Thranduil drew his hand with Glorfindel’s closer for another, deeper, kiss.

~ _finis_ ~

**Author's Note:**

>  **Notes:**  
>  yén, yéni = long year. 1 yén = 144 solar years.  
> talan, telain = flet or platform. I’m following the usage to call the dwelling ‘talan’, but a single structure ‘flet’.
> 
> Amon Lanc was the place of Oropher’s stronghold in the Second Age and later became Dol Guldur under Sauron’s occupation. To my knowledge, nothing is known of how the spiders came to settle in the Greenwood, and I think it plausible that it might have been there. 
> 
> Ephel Dúath = Mountains of Shadow
> 
> The village of Frywald is entirely my imagination, although the name is borrowed from a medieval Polish settlement of that name. It means ‘light wood’. For the purpose of this story, I’m assuming that Men were already settling more or less as they were at the time of the Lord of the Rings, although in smaller numbers and smaller settlements.  
> https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Liste_mittelalterlicher_Walddeutscher_Siedlungen
> 
> Thranduil the Dragonslayer: it is part of my head-canon that Thranduil slew a dragon in the First Age, at the War of Wrath, and is the only surviving Elf who had ever done so. The story is told in The Wrath of Dragon Fire.  
> Another bit of head canon form the same series, the Dragonverse, is that the King of the Greenwood is linked to his wood through a spiritual connection with every single tree, as told in my story The King of the Forest. Both stories are not related to the present one, nor it is necessary to know them in order to enjoy it. 
> 
> Spider silk ropes and tarps: this is a new bit of head-canon of mine. At present, I don’t know if the _hithlain_ of Lothlórien might contain or consist of spider silk. I’m keeping this open on purpose, although my ropes and tarps are very elastic, but don’t have any concealing qualities.
> 
> I'm sorry if the amount of original characters is confusing; here's a quick list for your convenience:  
>  _Imladris_ : Bregedaer (lieutenant), Elvedui, Hatholdir, Amaron, Celechanar and Malen.  
>  _Greenwood:_ Arveldir (captain), Callon, Cúnir, Lónaer and Norphen.  
>  The three groups consisted of the following members:   
> Thranduil's of Bregedaer, Malen and Norphen; Glorfindel's of Lónaer, Hatholdir and Celechanar and Arveldir's of Elvedui, Amaron and Cúnir. Callon remained behind to guard the base camp.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Written for IgnobleBard for My Slashy Valentine 2018 for the following prompt:  
>  _Any one pairing out of the following: Legolas/Haldir Thranduil/Glorfindel Finrod/Beleg_  
>  _Story elements = A mystery, a surprise romance, a dragon that hypnotizes people. The author can pick one, two, or all three elements. I would prefer danger and intrigue over humor, but if the dragon is in a traveling carnival making people cluck like chickens I wouldn't say no to that. I don't want it to be the main theme though._  
>  I had a lot of fun working with this prompt, IB, thank you very much! I'm not sure how well I managed the mystery and intrigue part, and the romance got less screen time than intended - the characters developed quite a head of their own! I hope you're still entertained by my take on your prompts.


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